


Imperfect

by luceluceluceluce



Series: Kink Bingo [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, existential crises and handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luceluceluceluce/pseuds/luceluceluceluce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kink bingo fill, "scars".</p>
<p>It is late, and their breaths are loud, and Cas observes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperfect

**Author's Note:**

> My fics have all been updating really slowly and sporadically because of school! I'm really sorry. Hopefully this marks the beginning of more frequent, constant updates.

The moment Cas appeared in the dark motel room, they both knew what would happen. Sam was in the far bed, already snoring soundly. Dean was awake, lying flat on his back with his arms behind his head. Cas didn’t ask if he had been waiting for him, and Dean didn’t say a word. He simply rose from the bed- still fully clothed- and they left.

They didn’t touch as they slipped from the room. Cas felt electricity running through him, overwhelming and nearly unbearable. It felt as if he should say something- anything- to break the heavy silence, but words were not his strong suit. They never had been. The streetlamps elongated their shadows as they walked toward the Impala.

“Dean,” Cas began at last, as Dean unlocked the door. Dean glanced at him, sharply, and Cas’s words died in his throat. He wasn’t sure what he had intended to say, anyway. He slid into the passenger seat, and for a long time, neither of them moved.

Cas watched Dean, his hands clenched on the wheel although the engine remained silent. He watched Dean’s throat bob as he swallowed, watched his jaw clench and then unclench and clench again.

“We can’t keep…” Dean said at last, looking straight ahead. “…I don’t know how many times this is gonna happen, Cas.”

Cas simply stared at him. Noticed the tired lines under his eyes. The roughness of his knuckles on the wheel.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Dean continued, halting. “It’s not that- it’s not that I don’t want it to keep happening- fuck, I do, it’s just- this isn’t the way it should happen. You deserve more than that.”

Dean finally turned to meet Cas’s eyes, and his lips twitched just slightly. It could be from nervousness. Cas was fairly sure that it wasn’t.

“I wanna take you out to dinner,” Dean said, sudden. “And not a burger joint, you know? A real restaurant place. We’d have to wear ties. You’re already set, I guess.” He smiled weakly. “I wanna be able to take you home- to a real house, not just a motel. But I can’t, Cas, I can’t do any of that. Tomorrow we’re hunting for a Loogaroo and I might get my face torn off, you know?”

“I know,” Cas said at last, his voice too loud in the tiny interior of the car.

“Right.” Dean looked crestfallen. “So… this can’t keep happening. I want it to. But it can’t.”

Dean’s lips were chapped. His eyebrows were furrowed just slightly. The six inches of distance between their shoulders had never seemed so unbearable.

“It makes me feel human,” Cas said.

Looking back on it, he wasn’t sure who leaned in first.

They met in the middle, their lips pushing together. Just pure contact, a signal that they had given in. Dean pushed farther, and Cas let him, the kiss deepening. His arm was pinned between their bodies, and he was leaning uncomfortably over the gap between the seats, but he didn’t dare break away. If he did, the frantic pull might fade, and Dean might stop. Cas didn’t know what he would do if that happened. He didn’t want to think about it.

Eventually, though, Dean’s hands pulled him forward. Cas obliged, clambering awkwardly across the gap and into Dean’s lap. His back pressed against the steering wheel and Dean’s half-hard dick pressed into his thigh, and yes, Cas decided, this was much better.

Their clothes were shed quickly and without ceremony. The pace picked up slowly- Dean sucked hard on Cas’s neck, and Cas gasped and ground down involuntarily, and then they were grinding back and forth, rough and coarse.

Cas forced his eyes open with some difficulty, and couldn’t help but stare. Dean was bathed in the yellow light of the streetlamps, bare chest heaving slightly, and Cas was fairly sure that nothing in all of Heaven could be more beautiful.

The tattoo under Dean’s collarbone was what Cas focused on first. He dipped downward and sucked on the soft skin, feeling Dean tilt his head back with a small exhale. Cas could almost taste the dark ink when he bit down. Dean’s hands moved to his ass, and Cas moved one of his own hands to Dean’s bicep- his palm settling naturally onto the raised scar. The color had faded with age, from an angry red to a faint pink, but the outline remained. Cas’s hand, permanently traced into Dean’s muscle and skin, from where his fingers had gripped tight and desperate.

Cas repeated the gesture, clutching Dean as he ground down again, fumbling their belts open. Dean helped, tugging their zippers and boxers aside impatiently, and Cas gasped as he felt fingers curl around him. He gripped Dean’s arm harder, entirely conscious of how easy it would be to shatter him.

The feeling of protectiveness mingled with helplessness made Cas’s head spin, and the thick scent of Dean didn’t help. Dean’s hand pumped up and down, and Cas groaned, his head dropping onto Dean’s shoulder. He palmed at Dean with his free hand, thought of the white scars on Dean’s thigh where a werewolf’s claws had cut into him years ago. Thought of the circular mark on his palm from playing a game of chicken with cigarettes when he was fourteen. Thought of the birthmark under his left ribs, thought of the scar tissue where a bullet had shot clean through his calf.

The car was too small and the air was too warm. The steering wheel bit into Cas’s spine, and Dean was so pockmarked. Tiny remenants from years of life and near-death.

Cas had never experienced anything so imperfect. He bit down on Dean’s neck- too slick with sweat, too rough with stubble, too weak from the limitations of human flesh- and came into Dean’s hand.

Imperfect callouses on imperfect, battered hands stroked Cas through his orgasm.

It made him feel human.


End file.
